


apollo was moved a little too late

by onibi



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beaches, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, achilles is extremely bisexual, come fight me madeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onibi/pseuds/onibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries, as he’s lying in bed, to form some kind of understanding, but he just ends up thinking about Patroclus’ hair, and his lips, and the way his fingers looked as he played the guitar, elegant and deft and so, so clever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NEW NOTE::: HEY ALL!!! I have basically tried to rewrite this fic because i think it is not good and i had to rush it because when i wrote it i was super busy and super depressed and i didn't do it RIGHT. so instead of reading this you should read [ 'a fatal blindness'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12382518/chapters/28169817) instead. or you can still read this if u really want i guess. i just have a lot of feelings about road trips and these ancient idiots.
> 
>  
> 
> i have vaguely set this in modern-day athens because (unfortunately) it's the only place in greece i've really been/know anything about. it's hot and they have great food  
> the title is from ovid's metamorphoses and thanks to [dieoniceus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dieoniceus/pseuds/dieoniceus) for the idea of helen owning a bakery bc is so sweet and perfect and i'm glad we can agree always that helen is an angel who must be protected at all costs

Achilles doesn’t mind the heat, really. He was used to it. It got hot in the summer, and ever since he was a kid that just meant more time taking off his shirt and running around getting all sweaty and gross and washing it all off in the ocean. He handled it just fine.

Patroclus, however, did not.

“I’m staying inside until the sun finally decides to be nice and go and fuck itself,” he says, when Achilles shows up at his door in the morning in his running gear.

“It’s early, though,” Achilles says, frowning. “It’ll be really hot midday when the sun’s all the way up. And then what?”

Patroclus frowns. “And then I’ll still be in here, where there is a fan, and my bed, and video games.”

He goes to close the door, but Achilles pushes his hand out to stop him. “You can’t spend all summer inside like some kind of hermit. I won’t let you. Also, I hate running without you.”

Patroclus purses his lips and narrows his eyes.

“Please,” he asks, softening the firmness in his voice.

“Fine. But you’re just going to run past me like you always do,” Patroclus says, sighing. Achilles ignores his grumpiness and just grins, bouncing on his heels as Patroclus turns back to go inside and change.

He comes back out in shorts and a worn band t-shirt that stirs warmth in Achilles’ stomach. He remembers all of their sleepovers in high-school, laughing at Patroclus’ tendency to only wear band shirts as pyjamas. “ _I can’t wear them outside_ ,” he’d say, “ _what if someone recognises the band and tries to talk to me about them?”_ and Achilles would just shake his head and wonder, what’s the point of having it, then?

His best friend is strange. He loves that about him.

“We going, then?” Patroclus asks, and Achilles stops stretching and grins at him.

“I don’t know… are we?” he asks, before breaking into a sprint around the corner.

He hears Patroclus call after him, but he drowns that out in his own laughter and the sound of the wind in his ears.

Achilles arrives at the bakery, of course, before Patroclus does. He had slowed down briefly and let him catch up, because he liked running side by side, but Patroclus was slow and steady. Achilles felt the itch to speed up and Patroclus just rolled his eyes and said “Go on.”

He catches his breath as he walks inside, and Helen is sitting behind the counter, leaning backwards on her chair.

“Oh, good morning!” she says when she sees him. “Up bright and early again, are we?”

“It’s the time of day I have the most energy,” Achilles says.

Helen laughs at this. “What time of day do you not have energy, though? You’re a supernova.”

She stands up and walks over to the display box, opening up a paper bag.

“What’ll it be today? The usual?”

“Yeah, and a koulouri.”

Helen raises an eyebrow. “Extra hungry?”

“Uh,” Achilles says, and averts his eyes. “Y-yeah.” Helen was a little judgemental about the way he treated Patroclus sometimes. He knows that she’ll just be seeing him in a minute anyway, but his instincts tell him to lie.

She doesn’t fall for it. “Achilles,” she says, and her voice has definitely taken on a motherly-disapproval tone.

“I’m just so much faster than he is!” he whines, throwing his head back. Then, he hears the door open behind him.

“Why do I do this to myself?” Patroclus asks as he walks inside. “It’s so fucking hot out there, it’s disgusting. Who invented the sun?”

Achilles turns to look at him, and feels a little bad. Patroclus really does not take the heat well. He’s all sweaty, his thick dark curls all over the place and sticking to his forehead.

“You shouldn’t wear black t-shirts if you don’t want to be hot,” Achilles says. “They absorb the heat.”

“I know that, okay?” Patroclus says, and frowns. “I just forgot. Plus, you could have told me that _before_ we left my place.”

Achilles grins. “But I like that shirt on you.”

There’s a moment of silence. Patroclus looks at him, and he’s smiling but, it’s weird. Did Achilles just say something weird?

“Ahem, well,” Helen says, forcing them to break eye contact and focus on her instead, “good morning to you too, Patroclus.”

“Right, shit. Sorry. I mean, good morning, Helen, I hope you’re having a lovely day,” Patroclus mumbles.

Helen gives them a soft smile, and hands the two bags over the counter. They pay, and turn to leave, waving goodbye and spouting their praise for the baked goods they take with them outside.

The two walk side-by-side in silence for a while, eating their pastries and watching the cars and people on the streets busily make their way around, probably to go to work. Achilles doesn’t have a job, right now. He’d worked at Helen’s for a while but she had to fire him because he kept eating all the food. It didn’t matter, really, it’s not like he needed the money, seeing as he was studying on an athletic scholarship and still living with his mother. Patroclus has a job, though, at a restaurant in the city-centre. He works most nights, and sometimes during the day.

“Are you working tonight?” he asks.

Patroclus shakes his head. “Nope.”

“We should go to the beach,” Achilles says, and Patroclus scrunches up his nose.

“Tourists.”

“We can find somewhere that’s not crowded,” Achilles says, frowning. “I thought you liked swimming.”

Patroclus shrugs, and takes a bite of his bread.

Achilles looks down at his feet. His stomach feels weird and twisty all of a sudden. “If you’re busy you can just say so, you know.”

“I’m not busy,” Patroclus says.

Achilles stops walking and looks up. “So you just don’t want to spend time with me, then?”

It’s Patroclus’s turn to frown now. “What? I always want to spend time with you.”

Something inside Achilles jumps at that, but he shakes his head. “It’s fine if you don’t. I won’t mind.”

Patroclus breaks into a laugh, deep and round and straight from his stomach. Even though Achilles was kind of mad, he takes the moment to enjoy the sound. It’s another thing he loves about Patroclus.

“When have you never ‘not-minded’ about anything?” Patroclus asks when he’s done laughing, and shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s up with you, but I really just don’t like tourists. Of course I’ll go to the beach with you. We’ll ask the others?”

Achilles nods tersely, and Patroclus pulls out his phone and starts walking again. Achilles takes a few moments before he catches up, watching the still-wet hair that’s stuck to the back of his neck, skin dark and bronzed from the sun. He feels the urge to run his hand up through it, for some reason. He shakes it off and keeps walking.

A few people get back to Patroclus about the beach, and they collectively decided that they’d go tomorrow afternoon, out to this one place that Cassandra insists won’t be crowded. Before they know it, it’s turned into a full on day trip.

They spend the afternoon lazy and hot in Patroclus’ apartment, playing video games and trying their best to make an edible lunch. For a while, in the late afternoon, they sit on the balcony and Patroclus strums at his guitar. Achilles lets his eyes close and feel himself in that moment, alone with his best friend, listening to the sweet, soft sounds he’s making that slowly echo out over the street. The sun is low now, but it’s still hot, and as he wipes his forehead and ties his hair back into a messy bun, he thinks he probably couldn’t be more content.

“What time is it?” he asks when he opens his eyes. It’s still light, but because it’s summer that could mean anything.

Patroclus stops strumming and looks at his phone. “Seven.”

“We’ve been here longer than I thought.”

Patroclus nods, and Achilles looks at his face, so beautiful and lit by the orange setting sun and he’s suddenly gripped by something deep in his chest that he doesn’t understand. It’s almost like wanting, wanting but tinged with sadness and confusion because he doesn’t even know what he wants. He clears his throat.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

Patroclus looks at him for a few moments, frowning, and then clears his throat. “Sorry. I, uh, I have to get some sleep tonight because if we’re going off tomorrow on the trip I can’t work tomorrow night, so I asked my boss if I could work tomorrow morning, or midday, and, yeah.”

Achilles nods immediately, but his chest hurts again, and this time he knows exactly why. Patroclus is lying to him. Achilles goes to sleep infinitely earlier than he does, and he knows for a fact that he feels better having someone else in the apartment with him because even though he refuses to admit it most days, he’s scared of being alone. Often, they’ll share Patroclus’ wide, lumpy bed and Achilles’ sleeps better than he ever does at home. But, for whatever reason, he’s not welcome here tonight, and Patroclus is not telling him why.

“Right,” he forces, standing up tall and suddenly. “I better go then. See you tomorrow.”

He starts to head back through the apartment when Patroclus grabs his arm.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want you here, man. You have to… you know that.”

Achilles frowns, nods, and turns to keep walking, fighting down the urge to say _I don’t think I do._

He turns around after heading out to the lift, and Patroclus is standing at the door. He raises a hand goodbye, and Achilles returns it.

On the way home, he has to lean against the wall of a building to get his breathing under control, and he doesn’t know if he’s angry or sad or confused or hurt, but he does know that something’s wrong with him and Patroclus, and he needs, _needs_ to figure out what it is.

Before he goes to bed, he tells himself he’ll work it out tomorrow, at the beach. He tries, as he’s lying in bed, to form some kind of understanding, but he just ends up thinking about Patroclus’ hair, and his lips, and the way his fingers looked as he played the guitar, elegant and deft and so, so clever.

He grunts in frustration, kicks off his sheets and sighs, because it’s two in the morning and he can’t sleep because maybe, he admits, just maybe, he’s a little bit in love with his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's fine.

It’s fine. He’s thought for a while that it might be the case, that maybe his feelings for Patroclus extend beyond the entirely platonic, but it’s never really been a problem. He had girlfriends, and Patroclus did too (once, sort of), and he decided that if he did have any feelings for his friend, he’d be best to keep them to himself. What they have is too important to him, so important that he’d do anything to keep it in his life, even if that meant ignoring this small, ever-present part of him that longs for something else. He pushes it down.

But, now. Now it’s becoming so hard to ignore, and he’s been single for so long and he’s getting far too careless with his thoughts, letting them go places he never has before, like, hey, what if Patroclus let Achilles hold his hand? Or stroke his hair? Or…

He swallows. It’s not something he should really be thinking about, really. He just makes himself sick worrying what he’d think of him, if it’d just be like yesterday but worse, if maybe he would never even speak to him again.

He ends up at Helen’s again, this time mid-morning, and there are a few people in there so he stands with his arms crossed, waiting for them to leave. When they do, Helen sighs.

“You’re scaring off all my customers, sweetheart,” she says.

Achilles frowns. “I’m not scary.”

Helen just raises her eyebrows and takes to wiping down the counter. Achilles drops his arms.

“Am I scary?”

Helen laughs softly. “You can seem like it. Anyway, what’re you doing here so late in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” he admits. “I couldn’t stop… thinking.”

“Oh? What about?”

He shifts uncomfortably.

“Can’t say?”

“No,” he says. “I can. I just…”

“You don’t have to tell me. Just know that you can, if you want. I can keep a secret.”

He regards Helen, her blonde hair cut short to her chin and yellow apron tied around her body, looking calm and knowledgeable well beyond her years. Achilles isn’t knowledgeable. He could probably use her help.

He clears his throat. “Is it worth risking a friendship with somebody by telling them how you really feel?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” he says, and turns to head straight out of the door.

“Wait, Achilles! You didn’t even eat!” he hears her calling from behind him, but he’s out the door and down the street before he can change his mind. His face is red.

Okay, so he may have panicked, a little, but it’s fine. He’s dealing with it just fine.

Everything’s fine.

He gets back to the apartment quickly, breathing hard and sweating as he steps into the shower and tries to wash himself clean. He lets the cool water soothe his skin and tries to focus on the heavy sound of water to get his mind off of everything else. Off of Patroclus. It proves to be kind of difficult.

It’s not that he didn’t know he was attracted to boys, because he always had been, just the same as girls. He’d come to terms with it a long time ago, deciding he’d deal with it when he had to, which had never been a problem because he sort of had Briseis, then Deidamia, and he thought he would probably stay with her for a lot longer than he did but they didn’t. So it was a possibility, then, now that he was older and in university that he would date a boy, but he hadn’t found anyone he’d liked, regardless of gender. Except, really, he had.

The problem is that Patroclus doesn’t like boys. Achilles knows this, because if he did, he would have told him by now. They tell each other everything. Except, well, maybe Achilles hadn’t mentioned that he liked boys to Patroclus either, but the thought of doing that makes him dizzy with worry that he might think he’s some pervert who’s been longing after him for years and, well, maybe he was a little. Therefore, it made sense to keep it to himself, whereas Patroclus would have no excuse. So, there was nothing to gain by telling him, and everything to lose. He just has to stop thinking about him in that way.

How hard could it be?

A couple of hours later, Cassandra and Clytemnestra show up at his door carrying a lot more stuff than he expected.

“What?” he asks, being pushed aside as the two of them walk inside without asking.

“What do you mean, what?” Clytemnestra says. “We’re going camping on the beach, right?”

He frowns. “No one said anything about camping.”

“Pretty sure we did,” Cassandra sings, dumping her sleeping bag on the floor.

“You never pay attention, Achilles,” Clytemnestra sighs.

“Never,” Cassandra agrees.

He’s about to protest when there’s another knock at the door, and Penelope stands there, hands on the straps of her huge overnight pack, grinning. Her dark, curly hair is tied back and she looks dark and radiant from the sun. He’s never understood what she saw in Odysseus, and maybe, in another world, he would have asked her out. He shakes the thought away as she, too, pushes past him to get inside.

“Odysseus is coming, soon, he promises,” she says. “Where’s Helen?”

Clytemnestra groans. “Tell me you did not invite my sister.”

Penelope’s face falls. “You didn’t invite her?”

“I,” he stumbles, not sure what to say. They’re both looking at him, and neither of them are happy.

“I did,” a voice from behind them says, and he turns to see Patroclus at the door. He’s wearing shorts and a tank top, and his feet are bare. Achilles swallows and scratches his neck.

“You didn’t tell me we were camping,” Achilles says.

“Pretty sure I did, dude.”

Soon enough, everyone is gathered in Achilles’ kitchen with too much stuff and an excitement in the air that, he admits, is kind of contagious.

“So, how’re we getting there?” Penelope asks. “Your car only fits five people, right?”

“We’re taking my car?” Achilles asks.

“Of course we are. Come on, you’re the only one who actually has one,” Patroclus says. Apparently, the decision has been made for him.

“Cassandra and I are putting our stuff in your car, but we’re taking my bike,” Clytemnestra says.

“Your what?!” Helen asks, horrified.

“My motorbike.”

“Since when did you-“

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, all right?”

Clytemnestra is smirking and Helen looks aghast, so Penelope claps her hands together and says, “Well, great! No problems, then.”

When they finally get on the road, Achilles feels a strange mixture of calm contentedness and nervous excitement. He hasn’t quite been able to look Helen in the eyes, but her presence, if anything, just makes him more and more aware how real this thing is becoming for him. It’s dragging itself to the surface and he’s not sure how it’s going to end up presenting itself.

“Music?” Patroclus asks, and Achilles swerves the car at the sudden intrusion of his voice.

“Woah!” Odysseus calls from the backseat.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry,” Achilles mumbles. “I was, uh. Lost in thought.”

“Well, how about you get lost in thought some other time when you don’t hold all of our lives in your hands?”

Achilles scowls. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Really?” Odysseus persists, “because I’ve never really been big on trusting you on the best of days, and it’s kind of a different story when I’m in the car with the love of my life and you could crash and kill us all in-“

“Back off, dude. He said he’s fine, he’s fine,” Patroclus says.

Achilles feels a little guilty, then, because his friend trusts him so much, and although he’s sure he’s not going to be killing them all today, it’s beginning to look quite possible that he is not, in fact, doing fine.

Patroclus puts on some music, then, without asking this time. Achilles is so aware of his presence beside him, wants to know what he’s thinking in this moment. Wants to get inside of his head.

He fixes his eyes on the road.


	3. Chapter 3

When they do get to the beach, it is warm and clear and beautiful. The only people there are Cassandra and Clytemnestra, already laying out on the soft, yellow sand. Achilles is fairly amazed.

“Cassandra was right. This place looks great!” Helen says as they approach them.

“Damn right I’m right,” Cassandra says. Her and Clytemnestra high-five.

“I can’t believe there’s no one here,” Patroclus says. “I mean, I know it’s a little bit of a drive, but still. Is it safe to swim?”

Achilles shrugs. “Probably.” He’s already taking off his shirt, heading over the rocks that are so hot from the sun they scorch his feet, making him jump and run to get to the cool water.

“Don’t slip!” Someone calls, but he’s nimble, and steady, and makes it into the water quickly. He walks in up to his thighs and then sinks into the water, kicking off of the rocky floor and getting his whole body wet.

He gives the rest of them, all still on the sand, a thumbs-up.

They all strip off the necessary clothing, and Achilles sinks his face into the water a little when Patroclus takes off his shirt. Which is stupid, because he sees him shirtless all the time. But. He also looks good, all the time.

They join him in the water and swim, for a while, splashing each other childishly and waiting out the heat of the afternoon sun. Eventually, everyone but Achilles and Patroclus leave the water to lay on the sand. Achilles demands they race, and he even lets Patroclus win, once. Afterwards, they get out and throw around a ball with everyone not too lazy to get up and join them, and finally collapse on the sand, covered in sweat and seawater.

It really is a beautiful afternoon.

“Okay, I’m starving. Who else is starving?” Odysseus asks, and there are general moans and mumbles of agreement. They head up to the grassy clear space they found to camp in, and Penelope builds a fire for them to boil their pasta in. Patroclus tries to heat the sauce at the same time, and burns it. Luckily, Helen bought extra, and he sits back and apologizes for being useless.

“You’re not useless! Well, not in many ways. It seems that you are kind of useless at this.” She winks at him, and he blushes, a little. Or at least, Achilles thinks he does. It could be the fire. He’s not sure. Either way, it makes him feel a little angry. Not at Helen, really, or at Patroclus. Maybe at himself.

What is he even thinking? Helen would never flirt with Patroclus, not really, and even if she did, who was he to care? Did he just expect that no one would ever be romantically interested in his best friend for the rest of their lives, and he’d never have to deal with the pain that it would bring him? It’s ridiculous, he thinks, and unfair, and stupid. It’s his fault, for not doing anything about it.

He bit his lip. It isn’t that he wants to do anything about it, because what he _wants_ is for everything to go back to normal.

No, that’s a lie. What he _wants_ is his tongue in Patroclus’s mouth.

“I’m going to go for a walk real quick,” he says, and gets up before anyone can ask why.

It’s a beautiful evening, and he watches the sunset for a while as he walks on the beach. The sea is turning a pinky-orange, and he can’t help but go and stand in the water for a while, just his feet under, watching out over the water.

He doesn’t notice someone else is there until she’s right next to him.

“It’s really pretty, isn’t it?” Helen asks. He nods. She’s wearing a white skirt, the long end tied up around her knees, and she looks tanned and plump and happy. Standing in the water like this, with the gentle wind rustling her hair, she could almost be a goddess.

“I know you’re in love with him,” she says, after a while. He looks at her in shock, and she smiles. “I don’t know if he knows, but I’m pretty perceptive, I think.”

He swallows. Scratches his neck. Considers lying about it, but then, “Yeah. You are pretty perceptive.”

“You have to tell him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

He closes his eyes. “Couldn’t bear it if he left.”

“There’s no way he’d leave. Come on, you know that, deep down. I’ve never met two people as inseparable as you are.”

“Even if that’s true, don’t you think it’ll be weird? That he won’t… that we won’t ever…”

She touches his arm. “I know. It might, if he doesn’t return your feelings, but it would pass. Say, if I told you now I was in love with you, would you want to stop being friends with me?”

“What? No!”

“I thought so. And it would be weird, when you turned me down, but don’t you think you’d get over it?”

He considers. “I guess. Yeah.”

She smiles. “So, it won’t be the end of the world if he doesn’t. Maybe weird for a while, but it’d be okay. Most of all, don’t you want to know what will happen if he does?”

His stomach flips. He does want to know. He really, really wants to know. His whole body feels alight with what could happen, what could be.

He smiles at her. “I’ll think about it.”

She smiles back, and leans her head on his shoulder. They watch the sun go down.

When they get back, the rest of them are talking loudly about something, and Patroclus looks up at Achilles with something on his face. Something a little weird that he doesn’t think he’s seen before.

“Your food’s cold,” he tells him.

Achilles shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

He eats cold pasta and listens to Clytemnestra and Odysseus argue over what the best sitcom is, with increasing aggression and fervour. Achilles finds himself looking at Patroclus every time he’s focused on something else, and he can’t do it. He has to talk to him.

He puts down his paper bowl and taps him on the shoulder. “Hey, want to go for a walk?”

Patroclus nods, and smiles, and God. His smile really is something else. It softens his whole face, his eyes big and brown and kind and crinkled at the edges. Achilles feels a little lightheaded, but sucks in a breath and walks off with him, leaving the rest of them to fight it out. Whatever it is. He wasn’t actually paying any attention.

He realises Patroclus is saying something, and he wasn’t listening. He just nods, and when he does, Patroclus looks at him with a frown.

“What’s up, man? You’ve been acting really weird.”

“Weird?” Achilles says. “When have I ever been weird? What’s weird, for me?”

“This. What you’re doing now is weird.”

Achilles looks at his feet. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be.”

They walk in silence for a few moments, but in Achilles’ head he’s thinking of a thousand different ways to say it, and discarding them all. He knows simple is best. With anyone else, he’d know what to say, which is hard because it’s usually with Patroclus that he knows exactly what to say, all the time. Not this time. How do you say it? How do you say, I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified of what that means? That losing you would be the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to me?

“I like your shirt,” he says, instead.

“What? I mean, thanks?” Patroclus says, tugging at the fabric. Stupid thing to say. It’s a plain black shirt.

He’s an idiot.

“Look, I feel like you’re trying to tell me something, and it’s hard for you to say,” Patroclus says, on a deep exhale, and Achilles’ stomach tightens with panic. “You don’t have to. It’s okay. It’s… better left unsaid.”

The ground falls out from beneath him.

“What?” he manages.

“It’s okay, dude. We’re fine. Nothing has to be weird. Just don’t say it.”

He can’t walk, for a few moments.  Then he can. He tries, and he can.

“All right,” he says. Despite everything.

They walk back to camp in silence. It’s dark, now, and Odysseus is setting up a tent. Helen and Penelope are whispering by the fire, and Cassandra is lying with her head on Clytemnestra’s stomach, pointing up at the stars.

He doesn’t feel quite real. It’s like he’s trying to leave his own body.

“Hey guys,” Clytemnestra says. “Where’d you go?”

For about an hour, he pretends everything is okay, even though he’s sitting in silence and it’s obvious to everyone that he is. Patroclus is being weird, too, but at least he’s trying to join in.

He’ll be fine, he tells himself. In a way, it’s what he wanted.

He’s brought back to Earth by Helen’s voice.

“…Achilles? Are you tired? You look really tired,” she says, and her voice is calm and soft. An anchor.

“Yeah,” he says. “Swimming.”

She frowns. He never gets tired out from exercise and she knows it.

“We’ve set up your tent. Why don’t you go in and try to sleep it off?”

He nods dumbly, and lets her lead him inside. He wishes he could feel angry, or sad, or anything at all, but he just feels paralysed and a little numb.

He lies down, and closes his eyes.

He hasn’t slept at all when he feels someone climb inside the tent next to him. He doesn’t turn, assuming it’s probably Helen. He doesn’t know what time it is, either.

“Achilles?” he hears. Soft voice. Patroclus.

He turns just his head.

“Hey,” he says. It’s dark, but Achilles can just make out his face.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s weird.” He sighs, runs his hand through his hair. God, Achilles wishes he could do that to him. Push it out of his eyes and kiss his cheek softly.

“It’s not,” he lies.

“Can I sleep here anyway?”

Achilles purses his lips, before nodding. He never could deny him. Never would.

He crawls in beside him and lies down. They’re both uncovered, it’s too hot to do otherwise. He turns his head back to face away from his best friend.

“I’m a coward,” he hears.

It’s a few moments before he understands what he just heard. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I’m such a coward,” and this time he hears his voice wavering a little, deep and sad and full of pain he’s never heard before in that voice. He turns around fully, sits up a little.

“What are you talking about?” he says, and there’s anger in his voice. “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

Patroclus laughs, but it’s bitter, disbelieving. “I’m not. I can’t even be honest with you.”

“You don’t have to be. I think it might hurt me to hear you be totally honest.”

“Hurt you?” Now, Patroclus sits up, meets Achilles face to face. “It would hurt you?”

“Of course it would. You… you’re my best friend, and I never want that to go away. Never. No matter what I feel.”

Patroclus is silent for too long, and when he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “And what do you feel?”

Achilles can’t speak. Patroclus looks down at the tent floor. “You can be honest, okay. I need to hear it. I deserve to.”

That’s a confusing thing that he just said. “Deserve to?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh.”

“What?”

“I’m just thinking that maybe something has happened, here.”

“Happened?”

“I’m going to do something now, okay? If you don’t like it, just stop me,” Achilles says. He’s proud of how confident he sounds, but when he reaches up to cup Patroclus’ face, his hand isn’t so steady.

“Stop what?” Patroclus asks.

He kisses him.

It’s soft and gentle, which Achilles isn’t used to being in any way, not even in kissing. When he kissed people before, it was heat and light and over in a second. This time, he tries to kiss Patroclus like he’s making a promise, or asking a question, even when his body is screaming at him to go deeper.

He pulls back quickly.

“I think,” he says, catching Patroclus’ wide beautiful eyes in the darkness, “I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you.”

Patroclus’ breath catches, and for a moment Achilles is terrified he’s made a mistake, and then Patroclus is kissing _him,_ and God, it’s everything Achilles had wanted but was too scared to ask for. He reaches around his back and pulls Achilles closer, and Achilles reaches up and finally runs his hands deeply through Patroclus’ beautiful curly hair. It’s so soft. His lips are, too, but they’re also forceful and insistent and he groans without thinking, leaning into his friends’ wonderful mouth.

Patroclus pulls back. “You like me?”

Achilles presses their foreheads together. “I love you.”

And Patroclus makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a whine, kissing him again, pulling back and laughing for real.

“We’re so stupid,” he says.

“Yeah,” Achilles agrees.

“I love you too.”

Achilles sighs. “Thank god.”

“Idiot.”

And then they’re kissing again, and again, and again. He trails kisses down Patroclus’ neck and decides he wants to record every noise he makes like this so he can play it on repeat for the rest of his life. They stay pressed together for a long time. They’re both tired, and happy. Patroclus buries his face in Achilles chest.

“It’s way, way too hot for this,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” Achilles agrees. “You’re all sweaty.”

“Shut up.”

He kisses the top of his head. They fall asleep, too hot and sweaty and happier than they’ve ever been, in each other’s arms.

 

 

-

**EPILOGUE**

Helen is just saying goodbye to a customer when two very exhausted looking boys burst into her bakery.

“Achilles, Patroclus, good morning to you,” she says, giving them a knowing smile.

“Great morning,” Patroclus agrees.

“Very good indeed,” Achilles says.

“Still hot outside, huh?” she asks. They look hot, as they always do after running, but Patroclus isn’t frowning, for once, and they even came in at the same time.

“Way too hot,” Patroclus agrees. “Can’t wait for summer to be over.”

He’s wearing a white shirt that Helen knows belongs to Achilles, because it’s stained and terrible and he should really throw it away, not give it to his boyfriend. Achilles’ is wearing one that says **I’M SORRY FOR WHAT I SAID WHEN I WAS HUNGRY** , which she knows has to be a gift, because he’d never buy that, despite how perfect it is for him. She pulls out their food automatically, bagging it up and placing it on the counter in front of them.

“I don’t know, I think this summer has been pretty good, boys,” she says. “Don’t you think?”

The two look at each other, blushing even further under their flushed skin from running.

“Pretty good,” Achilles says.

“Yeah,” Patroclus agrees.

She grins, hands them their food, and watches them walk out hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i'm very sorry that this wasn't great. i wanted to make it longer but life gets in the way and also i am totally shit at finishing anything so it's a miracle to even finish anything at all. i hope you liked it anyway! xx


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